A Few Days Laura Sidle's Story 7
by sarapals with past50
Summary: Another sequel in a series. Sara's mother, Laura, attempts to find a life and Sara must help her. Grissom does arrive for a short, passion filled visit.
1. Chapter 1

**A Few Days—Laura's Story Chapter 1**

_Here is our story of Laura Sidle, Sara's mother, capturing a few days of what might have happened prior to Sara moving to Las Vegas. _

Sara had worked a double, slept for four hours, and was driving a borrowed car into the less populated area northeast of San Francisco. She knew where she was going, having made this trip at least once a month for a year. Her work on the skull was finished; the remains had been delivered to the nieces she and Grissom had met. The official report was typed and on its way, along with the face model, to Terri Miller, who was already planning a presentation.

Driving alone, Sara had time to think—too much time she thought. She had returned to San Francisco after college because she missed the bay area, she was tired of cold winters, and she got tuition and fees scholarship to work on a master's degree.

Six months later, her mother's case worker contacted her. At an age when most young adults were learning to make decisions about their own life, work, and society, Sara became her mother's "responsible contact," in effect becoming a guardian for a parent who had been in state custody in varying degrees for more than a decade. Thanks to 'progressive' programs, her mother was released into a new world. She had not written a check, used a credit card, or made one purchase in a store in over ten years.

Barely old enough to be legal age, in addition to graduate work which came easy, Sara began a long learning process as the adult daughter of a parent who needed serious support to re-enter society. There were days when exhaustion gave way to misery or self pity. There were times of intensive anger at herself, her mother, a system that provided too little to late. Finally, resignation arrived.

Laura Sidle improved; the mother and daughter found shy companionship as distant kin often do. The mother could also be as obstinate as her daughter—insisting on living apart even if it meant an arrangement that was little more than a run-down rooming house and taking jobs that no one else would do. The older Sidle woman returned to organized church and its associated meetings, finding a society that accepted her without questions.

Sara found a career in forensics that kept her learning and a passion for solving puzzles. Her co-workers found she could work out a solution to a crime faster than most could develop a sentence. She kept her mother a secret. No one needed to know and her history was not on any record except one and those records were sealed by court order.

Today, she was meeting with a social worker, the one who called when Grissom was in her apartment. Her mother had been living and working for a year in a religious community. After three years of interrupted life, the nuns had managed to do what Sara could not. Her mother was at peace, even happy at times. She cooked, she cleaned, she grew vegetables, and she prayed. She had, in effect, become a nun as much as any other woman in the order—a lay affiliate, she acted, thought, and believed as a member.

The meeting would decide if she could remain in the community. Sara was sure the decision had been made; the meeting was official notification.

Sara drove the borrowed car remembering the last time she had driven this car. Gil Grissom sat beside her. He made her laugh; life felt right when he was around. He did not treat her as a freak—because she worked forensics, because she was smart or young or trying to live a normal life. He accepted her as she was and loved her in a way that no other person had ever loved her. She smiled.

Yet he did not know about her life—her father's terrible temper, the constant moving when she was growing up, and her mother's final desperate act. She could not tell her story knowing it would brand her as a murderer's daughter. It would be better to pretend there was no mother than admit the true story.

Tears had formed with her thoughts and she quickly blinked her eyes. If her life was to go on, she had to be happy, she thought. Sadness, anger, frustration had to be pushed aside.


	2. Chapter 2

**A Few Days with Laura Sidle Chapter 2**

The address she sought was half hidden by roadside growth. The one lane track made several turns before opening up to fields, a meadow filled with wild flowers, more trees, mowed grass, a large garden, and multiple buildings. In the garden, several figures raised and waved and bent again to their work.

The buildings reminded Sara of the vineyard and bed and breakfast—the poor man's version. The barn was a ramshackle wood and metal structure with tacked on lean-to buildings. She knew chickens were in one. A few cows lived in a small pasture behind the barn.

She drove past this area to the faded red and white house. This was where the women lived, where she would meet with a social worker and several others, where her fate and that of her mother had already been decided, and she would learn today. Sara wished for Grissom's hand—only for a second. To hold his hand today would require too many answers to questions she did not want asked.

Sara had been to enough crime scenes to visually know the layout of this house. She had been inside when her mother moved in. It had been a typical ranch house until the nuns added wings for individual bedrooms. Instead of three bedrooms, the house had at least fifteen small bed chambers, scarcely larger than a closet with enough space for a bed, a chair, a cabinet for a few clothes.

One end of the house had been rebuilt as a chapel—the prettiest part of the place. Even for Sara, it was a spiritual place and she had never heard one word spoken in the chapel.

This was where her mother chose to live—apart from the world and sharing space with quiet women who demanded work and reverence and prayer. It was her mother's desire to live here; Sara hoped, wished, maybe even prayed that the nuns had made the same decision.

The social worker met Sara at the door. Sara never doubted this woman's ability but in her association with social workers, this one fit no previously recognized mold. Sister Deborah was as tall as Sara, older with short cut grey hair, an unlined face that belied her actual age, and a laugh. She had been the primary contact with this order, meeting Laura Sidle two years ago in a small church. At first Sara was suspicious—why would a nun, unlike any other Sara had known, take an interest in her mother? Only after visiting this place on three occasions would Sara agree to arrangements for her mother to move here.

"Sara—you look so good! You need to visit more often." Sister Deborah was always enthusiastic; she was always boisterous and laughing and creating noise.

"Hello, Sister." Sara stuck out her hand knowing it was useless. Sister Deborah hugged everyone in a bear hug, wrapping arms around and pulling one close as a sleeping child would a teddy bear. Sara's hand did not stop her today. And when she brought Sara to her, she whispered, "Every thing is fine. Don't worry."

To Sara's ears, this was enough. Not only had her mother found a safe place, its inhabitants had found her. For as long as Laura chose to stay, this place would be her home. Relief must have been apparent in Sara's face.

"Today is a formality. We talk, we sign forms and everyone agrees."

Sara asked, "Does Mom know?" Sister Deborah nodded her head.

The two entered the dining room where others waited. Sara was all too familiar with such meetings. She had waited outside for many to end; she had been sitting at similar tables for a few. Her mother was not there, not surprising to Sara. Mother and daughter shared a dislike for such meetings.

Introductions were made even when none was needed. Sara and two others were the only strangers at the table. A lone man representing the church officials sat at the head of the table. He had worked with this group long enough to know that his presence was a token, his words unnecessary. The other woman was a court representative, delegated to protect the rights of Laura Sidle.

An older nun was first to speak in a quiet, measured voice quickly covered the reason for this meeting. She said, "Laura Sidle came to us a year ago with a desire to live among us. Sara, as her daughter and next-of-kin, you have shown great interest in her well-being. We want Laura to join us, live here for as long as she desires. In a year, Laura has become a valuable asset to our way of life." She smiled showing a row of perfect white teeth that surprised Sara.

Sara was smiling at the other faces with smiles reflecting her own. She wasn't sure what to say. Thank you did not seem appropriate, but she said it anyway.

"Where is Mom? Does she know?"

Several heads nodded.

_A/N: Leave us a short note! We want to know who's reading--keeping this fluffy, can't take angst right now!!_


	3. Chapter 3

**A Few Days with Laura Sidle Chapter 3**

Sister Deborah said, "She will join us shortly. There is some paperwork to sign."

Papers were passed to Sara—simple forms of property ownership and next of kin and shared governance, a complex guardian assignment form. Sara read each, signed beside her mother's signature, and passed the papers to the woman from the court. There was no property, no other next of kin. She was passing the care of her mother to the community of nuns.

After she signed her name to the last form, Sara closed her eyes. She wanted to hide the tears and relief she felt. A hand touched her shoulder.

"Let's meet Laura in the chapel." One of the women took her elbow and walked with her to the chapel. If anyone noticed how she pressed fingers to her eyes, they chose to say nothing.

In the chapel, Sara's mother waited and came immediately to her daughter, a familiar smile on her face.

"We are going to be fine, Sara. I need this." Laura stroked her daughter's hair carefully tucking a lock behind an ear. Their hands met briefly before the man walked to the front of the chapel.

Everyone but Sara quietly made the sign of the cross, kneeling before taking a seat. Rituals of religion were no longer a part of her life. She had been taken to church, even attended Catholic schools as a child, but once her father was dead and her mother disappeared and Sara entered foster care, she no longer had a reason to attend church. As her interest in science strengthened, her attachment to any religious belief left completely.

She often thought about the irony—her mother would probably live the rest of her life in the company of quiet religious women, the opposite of the noisy confusion of the institutional life she had endured for over a decade. Perhaps, Sara thought, this would be her choice in a similar situation. It was quiet and orderly. Everyone worked. It was a good place.

The simple service was one of prayer followed by a song and a welcome to the community for the new affiliate. Back in the dining room, a meal had appeared as quietly as the women who worked and lived there. Nearly twenty women shook Sara's hand or gave her an embrace, saying words of welcome to her, assurances that her mother had found a home. Sara smiled until her face hurt.

They ate simple foods, passed from person to person at each table. Most of the foods were grown on the farm. The nuns talked during their meal; it was not a silent or sequestered convent but a community of shared work and dedication to God. Sister Deborah sat across the table from Sara, talking and laughing, at ease with this unusual world. She was the one who asked Sara to spend the night.

"I can't. I'm driving a borrowed car. They expect me to return tonight," she explained.

"Can you call the owner? Spend one night with us. It would please us and your mother."

When the older nun who spoke in their meeting also asked her to stay, showed her the telephone, and assured Sara that night clothing would be found for her, she called her co-worker about his car.

Sara did not ask for much from friends so her request to keep the car until the next day was quickly granted. He asked no questions.

The remainder of the day, Sara followed or was led by others as they worked. Eggs were collected; cows moved into the barn, several goats and three pigs were fed. The priest left with his car loaded with vegetables and eggs. There were stacks of vegetables and baskets of fruits—Sara had no idea what one did with so much until she entered the kitchen.

She found women washing, cutting, and cooking every fruit and vegetable collected on the farm. Some foods were packaged and ready for the huge freezer while others were placed in jars and sealed. She was given a knife and peeled tomatoes before placing each one in a glass container that was placed in a huge mystery pot that steamed and hissed. The women called it "processing the bounty" and showed her a pantry filled with their finished products.

In all this, she never heard a loud word uttered. There was a quietness that surrounded the place even when the women talked. She noticed there were no clocks, no music, no television. The hours were marked by the chime of bells and the sun.


	4. Chapter 4

**A Few Days with Laura Sidle Chapter 4**

Dinner was a light meal, followed by another gathering in the chapel. When Sara realized the small room was nearly full, she ducked to the back porch where a large grey cat found her. She sat on the step and the cat curled onto her lap, purring in contentment of finding a companion. The absolute quietness of the place was no longer out of the ordinary for her; if anything, the afternoon spent within the community had helped her understand why her mother chose to live here. Perhaps her mother's decision was not one of abandonment of normal life, but acceptance of a life that helped her become normal.

Sara ran her hand through her hair and leaned against the porch railing. Her own thoughts ranged from absolute depression at being forsaken by her only living parent for the second time in her life to one of euphoria that her battered mother had found a way to contribute to a community and have a certain satisfaction in living with this religious order. Maybe it was the religious aspect of all this that caused her darkest thoughts. She closed her eyes while the cat purred.

When she felt a hand on her shoulder, she did not know how long she had been sitting on the porch, sure she had not been asleep, but the touch startled her.

"Hello, Sara." It was the older nun from the meeting. Sister—no, she was Mother Veronica—the leader of the community. As she tried to stand, the hand remained on her shoulder, and the nun sat beside Sara. "I noticed you were not at evening service, so I slipped out to find you."

"I'm sorry—I should have come."

A hand covered Sara's. The hand was old, covered with darkened spots across its top and veins that stood out as dark blue. "Sara, don't apologize. Some of us are not meant for religious life—perhaps not even religion." The hand moved along Sara's arm as a gentle stroking, much as Sara had done with the cat in her lap. "We want your mother here and she wants to be here. She is not shutting you out of her life but opening up another door. She suffers daily from what happened to you but she is also very proud that you are such a smart, strong young woman."

Sara managed a smile. The cat stretched and stepped from Sara's lap to the nun's. Sara said, "Even the cat prefers you."

The old nun's arm went around Sara's shoulders. "Oh, Sara. This cat prefers me because I give her milk at this time every day. She wants one thing. Come with me. Let's walk." She tucked the cat against her chest and stood taking Sara's hand. The two women headed to the barn. "This cat wants fresh milk, straight from the cow. Have you ever milked a cow?"

Sara shook her head. She watched as the older woman pushed a stool near a black and white cow, sat the cat down beside her, and proceeded to fill a small bucket with milk. The cow was as docile as the cat as the nun poured milk into an old plate.

"I do this every night. Grey cat is the only one of the six cats who will come to the porch looking for me." She laughed as she pointed at two other cats crowding the plate. "We do most of the milking in the morning; but the cats are spoiled."

The lights were on in the house as they exited the barn. They closed doors behind them as walked a path back to the house.


	5. Chapter 5

**A Few Days with Laura Sidle Chapter 5**

"Never think your mother has deserted you, Sara. Every day you will be in our prayers. We have two other women living here who have adult children." She had taken Sara's hand as they walked. "I would be honored to have you as part of our extended family. We don't want birthday cards or visits on certain days, just come when you can. We take care of each other—your mother will never want for anything here; our needs are simple."

They had stopped at a bench—Sara realized it was placed equal distance from house and barn. "I do appreciate all you have done," Sara said. "I know my thanks are not enough. And my mother does seem to be content here." She looked at the starry night and thought about Las Vegas—about the sky outside of the city. "It is beautiful here. Peaceful."

"That's part of why we are so selective about letting people live with us. We don't look for people but like to think people find us." The woman chuckled and leaned toward Sara. "I say that and I know Sister Deborah searches for women who will fit into our group."

The two women sat on the bench until total darkness came making the lights in the house even brighter as they watched women moving around inside.

"Do you feel safe here?" Sara asked. "Do you have any protection or security?"

The older nun patted Sara's hand. "Dear, we have God." Sara stopped a snort as Mother Veronica continued. "I know what you mean—I know you work with crime. Yes, we do have an alarm system. And beyond the meadow, in the trees, is another farm house. We are linked to them. Yes, we feel quite safe here."

A comfortable silence surrounded the two until the night air chilled and a few lights turned off in the house.

"It's time we go in, Sara. Thank you for coming, for caring about your mother. Go on with your life without worry about her. Visit—any time."

When they arrived in the house, Sara was sure everyone knew the two had been together but no one seemed to notice their arrival or, for that matter, the absence of either. Sara's mother, saying few words, and Sister Deborah, who also appeared to be a sort of social director, showed her to a small bedroom. A clean gown, towels, new socks, a comb, and a new toothbrush were stacked on the bed. Her mother pointed out the shared bathroom and left Sara to prepare for bed.

Sara was alone in a bathroom which reminded her of dorm life except liquid soap and shampoo was in each immaculately clean shower. The floor squeaked from cleanliness. She wrapped a small towel around her wet hair, slipped into the gown and pulled the socks on. The cotton gown had obviously been worn, but smelled of sunshine and fresh air. She returned to her room and found her bed turned down and a hand-sewn quilt across the foot of the bed.

A small lamp was on but otherwise, the room was bare of decorations with the exception of a small cross over the bed. After hanging her clothes in a tall cabinet, she crawled in bed, awake, with no book to read and certainly no television to watch. She pulled her knees to her chin and sat in bed. Usually she would be eating dinner now and still have several hours before her midnight shift started.

There was a light knock on her door and her mother's face appeared as it opened. "May I come in?" Her mother smiled the same smile that Sara saw in her own mirror.

"Sure."

"I know it's the wrong bed time for you, so I brought you a book." She held out an old book. "You liked this one when you were young."

It was the story of a young orphan in Canada. Sara had not thought about the book in years. "I remember this story!" She flipped the pages to find drawings to accompany the story. "I must have been nine or ten when I read this."

Her mother waved her hand and Sara moved over so both could sit side by side. "It's been a long time since I read to my little girl. I thought it might help you sleep if I could do it tonight."

Sara smiled this time and handed the book back to her mother. "I always wanted red hair." She slid underneath the covers and curled so she could see her mother's face. Her mother began to read the first chapter of the book. Laura Sidle was home, her daughter decided, hearing her mother's voice calmly saying words from a book written about a young girl.

She remembered the haunted look on the face of her mother just three years previously when neither knew what to say or what to do with the other. They had not talked at first—what does one say to a mother who has been absent while the child grew up? Sara could recall details of the night her father died but not of the day before. She had so few memories of her childhood she sometimes wondered if there was a medical name for this form of amnesia.

Tonight, her mother was relaxed. Her eyes were clear and focused; her skin glowed from sun exposure and her graying hair was cut short around her face. This place had brought about a much needed change.

Sara sighed, loudly enough to cause her mother to raise her eyes.

"What wrong, honey?" Her mother closed the book. Her hand came to rest across her daughter's hand.

"Are you happy, Mom?"

Her mother nodded. "I am, Sara. I really am. This is a good life for me." Her laugh was a quiet one. "It took a long time to get here but I believe I am where I belong."

Sara nodded. "I don't want to lose you."

Laura wrapped her hand around Sara's. "You haven't lost me; you helped me find myself." She paused for a full minute. "Mother Veronica talked to you? She is a kind woman and means what she says. You will always be welcomed here." She smiled a genuine broad grin. "Bring your Las Vegas friend out here for a day. Let him meet us, share a meal at our table."

Sara smiled at her suggestion. "I don't know about that, Mom. He's a city guy—not sure he would understand farm life with a group of women."

"Bring him. You might be surprised at his reaction to us." She passed the book to Sara. "Can you sleep?"

"Yeah."

"Are you okay with all this? You can visit any time—spend the night or a week."

"I'm fine, Mom. I'm happy you are happy. I really am. I want you to stay well and happy."

Laura Sidle leaned to kiss her daughter's forehead. "Sweet Sara—you always were as a child, thinking of everyone else. Do you want to keep the book?"

"I think I will—read for awhile, then I can sleep. Thank you."

Sara read for two hours before going to sleep. She had forgotten much of the story, especially the character's boyfriend—his name was Gilbert. Her mother entered the bedroom early in the morning and gently removed the book from Sara's hand.


	6. Chapter 6

**A Few Days with Laura Sidle Chapter 6**

The community worked before breakfast. They ate toast and drank coffee before they milked cows, gathered eggs, fed animals, and opened the barn. By the time they met for breakfast, they were hungry for a real meal and their guest was awake to join them as they ate a breakfast fixed for those who do physical labor.

Sara left after breakfast. She needed to return the car. She was scheduled to work that night. She wanted to call Grissom. Every woman in the house shook her hand or said a few words; all were kind and gracious, smiling and quietly returning to whatever work needed to be done. Before leaving her room, she heard laughter outside the window and watched as several of the women cut flowers and shared an experience—she was certain it was about a bug as one woman twirled and waved arms over her head. It was the loudest noise she had heard in twenty-four hours.

XXXX

Grissom listened to Sara's message twice. He heard a change in her voice, a slight uplift of excitement, conveying nothing but saying she would call him later. He checked time on the machine; she should be home. He called her number and left a message. Five hours later, he woke and had to find his phone in the bed. No call. He tried her number again only to get the answering machine a second time.

He got up and poured cereal into a bowl, put a cup of water in the microwave, and checked the time. Sara should have called by now. He dialed her work number.

She was not working. He dialed work again, asking for her boss. As soon as he answered, Grissom remembered this was Sara's day off, but that did not mean she was not working. Tom Henry affirmed his thought—Sara was off until the next night.

It puzzled Grissom. Thinking back over the past months, he realized that they had talked almost daily. More than nine hours had passed since her call. He called her home number again and left a third message—saying he missed her. He went to work, early, because there was always something to do with the rising crime in Las Vegas.

Twice during work, he dialed her number and got her answering machine—it was the middle of the night and, the second time, it was three in the morning. She should be home, sleeping or reading. His mind went into over-drive trying not to think about what can happen to people, especially young women who lived in quiet, lonely apartments.

He cursed. The same quiet, lonely apartment where a week ago, he sat on the step with Sara thinking how nice it was, a faint fragrance of flowers in the air, was causing alarm tonight. Inside that apartment, he had realized he loved the young woman in bed with him; she asked for nothing, she had accepted him without question, she made him laugh, and he was six hundred miles away.

He dropped the evidence bag in his hand. The woman working across the table looked up. "Anything wrong?" She asked.

"Catherine, can you take care of things tonight?"

"Sure." The two had worked together long enough to be familiar with each other. She told him everything; he rarely said anything, which, she thought, made them perfect for each other. "It's quiet." She gave him a perplexed smile. "What's going on?"

Grissom stood at the table several seconds before he spoke. "I need to do something. Tell Jim I'm officially off the clock." He turned and left the room, heading to the locker room before a quick stop in the break room where he dialed a number in San Francisco. There was no answer.

He had a change of clothes in a small duffle bag and carried it on the airplane with him. He had not even looked at the price of the ticket when the agent ran his credit card. This was probably the stupidest thing he had done in thirty years, but he had to know why she was not answering her phone.

The flight took no longer than usual but seemed to take an eternity as his mind played the same scene over and over. Perhaps she was staying with friends or lying in a pool of blood or left the phone off its hook or—his mind would not stop returning to the night that ended in the emergency room. Why could he not think a rational thought and instead had taken the first available plane to San Francisco?


	7. Chapter 7

**A Few Days with Laura Sidle Chapter 7**

_Remember, this is pre-Las Vegas, pre all the work and blood and kidnapping and other stuff that went on for seven years! And we want Grissom to care this much again! _

When the plane landed, he almost took the return flight without leaving the airport. Instead, he rented a car, driving in the pre-dawn light to her apartment and finding a parking space a block away.

The apartment was locked and dark. He had the key from his previous visit and unlocked the door. Inside, he found the apartment looking as if she had left it twenty minutes earlier, dishes washed, bed made, towels hung up. Three socks were on the floor by the bed. He grinned at the only disorder in the entire place. No Sara, no evidence of where she had gone. He was an intruder but he was also an investigator.

A flower draped from a vase in the window, a few petals had fallen on the sill. The dish towel was dry. He backtracked to the bathroom and felt the towels. Dry. The sink was dry. Her toothbrush in a cup felt dry to his fingertip. He opened the cabinet and found aspirin and her birth control container. He sighed as he closed the door—nothing told him where she had been for twenty four hours. And more possibilities played around his brain. Should he call her boss? Should he call her former roommate or the hospitals? Or was this a fool's errand and she had left a message he had not gotten.

In her refrigerator, he found a bottle of juice. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. Catherine had handed him a sandwich hours ago. He wished he had a drink—the kind he and Jim Brass shared after work. He took the juice outside, leaned back against the door, and emptied the bottle.

Fatigue, lack of sleep, worry joined with rising warmth of the morning sun and minutes after finishing the juice, Grissom's head slumped against the door and he was asleep.

XXXX

Sara stopped to buy enough food for later. She wasn't hungry but knew she needed to eat before work. She swung the bag over her shoulder and almost danced up her street. One huge burden had been lifted from her life. She wanted to talk with Grissom, to laugh with him as they planned a visit Las Vegas. He did not have to know everything about her mother—just that she was in a good, safe place. She might take him there one day. Sara even let herself think about moving away from San Francisco. She lifted her face to the sun and smiled.

Her walkway was shaded all day. Only her little second floor porch got morning sun so she did not notice the person stretched across her landing until she was taking the first step. Familiar legs, she thought, a recognizable jacket, and a very well known face—asleep on her porch. What is going on, she thought. Why would Grissom be sleeping on her porch?

She quietly climbed the steps and sat down facing him. He stirred and opened his eyes. She smiled. "Rip Van Winkle?"

"Sara Sidle," he said.

She snickered—not a giggle, but half laugh and half snort. "What are you doing here?"

He smiled, picked up the empty juice bottle and said, "Drinking your juice. Taking a nap on your porch."

This time she giggled. "What are you doing here?" She leaned forward and kissed him, quickly. "What's going on?"

Grissomshut his eyes for a few seconds, gavea sigh, saying "I was worried." When he opened his eyes, she saw the worry and fatigue etched on his face. She waited for him to continue. "You called and left a message. I—I left you several messages. You didn't call back—for hours." He dropped his face. "I guess my imagination went into overdrive."

"You came six hundred miles because you were worried?"

He nodded. "I left work. I flew in on a gambling plane early this morning, rented a car and drove here." This time he kissed her. "I'm sorry, I unlocked your door and went inside. I—I didn't know what to do—we have talked every day for months—I didn't know where you were."

Sara had taken his hands in her own. "Oh, Grissom—this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me." She kissed him again caressing his face, letting her fingers play into his hair. She broke the kiss, smiling. "Did you really come because you were worried?"

"Does it sound crazy?"

"No." She stood up. "Have you eaten? I'll fix some eggs." Once inside, she asked, "Why didn't you stay inside?" She saw his bag on the sofa.

"I didn't want to frighten you when you open the door." He poured water in her coffee maker for two cups and leaned against the window watching as she cracked eggs in a bowl. She had not told him where she had been—he had no right to ask. She reached for a pan and waited for butter to melt before pouring eggs into the hot skillet. He recognized an experienced egg cook; he was one too.

Sara turned as she lifted the edges of the eggs. "Ask me where I've been! Oh, never mind. I have to tell you." The pan tilted and eggs slid onto a plate. "Toast in a second." He watched her place a slice of bread atop melted butter in the same pan, flipped the bread, and placed it beside the eggs.

"You aren't eating?" He placed two cups of coffee on the table.

She shook her head. "Part of where I've been. Sit. Eat. I don't know where to start." She sat across the table from him.

"Tell me." He ate.

She gave him a broad smile. "Did you really fly all this way just because you were worried?" She touched his face as he ate, dropped her hand when he nodded again. "I told you about my mom—she's always had to have assistance, help, you know." She found it impossible to describe her mother's life. "Yesterday, I went to this appointment about her—living in a community, where she will have others to help her. I mean, she's doing really well. She's been there a year, but they had to vote to say she could stay. She's happy—content, I think." She placed his plate in the sink and returned to her chair.

"Grissom, she gets to live there—for as long as she wants to stay."

_A/N: Next chapter is total smut, not graphic, just don't read if you don't want a hot sex scene (tastefully done we hope!!) and that's the last chapter of this story._


	8. Chapter 8

**A Few Days with Laura Sidle Chapter 8**

_One more chapter after this one!_

The look on her face was all he needed to see the relief she felt. "You think this is a good place?" It still did not explain where she had been for twenty four hours.

She nodded, "Yes, it is. Are you religious?" She did not wait for an answer. "I'm not, but my mother is, even sent me to Catholic school when I was young. The community is one of nuns—sisters—who live and work on this farm. My mother will be a lay member and appears happy to be there."

"How do you feel?" His question was asked quietly and caught her off guard for a few seconds.

A slight frown developed between her eyes before she smiled again. "I guess I'm fine, actually I'm happy about it. I went out to the farm for the appointment. They asked me to spend the night and I stayed." Realizing he had been trying to find her all night she said, "I'm sorry—I never thought you would be worried, that you would come." She leaned across the table and kissed him again. "No one has ever worried about me," she whispered.

He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket. "Today, before I leave, we are getting you a cell phone." He grinned. "So I can find you."

She showered while he washed his plate and the pan. He wrapped her in a towel as she stepped out.

"I'll be two minutes." He was quick.

Her towel dropped somewhere between bathroom and bed. They were no longer shy with each other; knowing what the other wanted and how to bring pleasure and passion to consummate this intimate act. Her lips traced invisible lines along his body as her fingertips stroked light touches at his temples, on his chest, lacing her fingers with his as he groaned with excitement.

His hands found her—this woman who had come to him when he least expected. He closed his eyes and took her with his lips pressing against her mouth, exploring her, finding her most intimate areas with his gently probing fingers. She always gasped with a soft intake of air when he entered her bringing a smile to his face. He was convinced, in this time and place, she had been made for him. Scientifically, he knew this was not true, but in passion, he believed it. How else did they find each other? How else did she fit into that area against his chest and curl her body against his? Was it some predestination fixed in the stars from the time he was born? To find this woman who responded to his needs, desires and never ask anything from him?

He kissed her, deeply, as she responded, parting her lips and moving fingers through his hair. His hand moved to her breast causing pleasure and a delicious tension to began to build deep inside her body.

"You are beautiful." His thumb moved in circles around her nipple.

Sara wanted to touch him just as intimately. She lowered her hands and he muttered something. Her pulse raced causing a shiver to move down her spine. She kissed the small depression at his throat and then moved to his chest.

His fingers progressed to her thigh and he was touching her in the most intimate place on her body causing a delightful aching sensation.

"I am ready for you," she whispered.

His answer was a deep rumbling moan as he rolled on top of her, separating her thighs with gentle pressure. He caught her face between his palms and kissed her again and again as he moved slowly, deliberately within her. She knew he was losing control; this man who showed such restraint in his life.

Grissom was lost; he could live the rest of his life on the exquisite scent of this woman he held, he thought. Sara moaned and he moved one hand to the curve of her spine and her buttocks, pulling her snugly against him. He sensed her impending climax as her fingers pressed against his back; contractions surrounded and gripped him as he plunged within her. She was lost having no longer any concept of what was going on around her.

He clamped his mouth over hers, feeling immense desire as they were brought together in this act. She softened beneath him and he felt hands in his hair, soft, gentle strokes of her fingertips, followed by kisses and smiles. His head dropped to her shoulder and he shifted his weight; she opened dark eyes.

"Gil." She said as she brought her hand to his face. It was all she needed to say. They were quiet; he dosed for a few minutes in the aftermath of release, opening his eyes when she kissed his temple.

"Sara, move to Vegas. Live with me. We can work together. I won't have to fly six hundred miles to find you." He had her in a space where she could not escape. His legs were wrapped over hers and arms were twisted and locked together in lover's knots.

Her eyes opened to reveal black pupils dilated to the edges of each brown iris. He lowered his lips to hers, whispering, "Please think about this."

She did not move except to respond with kisses. "I still can't believe you came because you were worried about me."

"I worry more than I tell you."

"Oh, Grissom." She continued to call him by his last name; only in passion would she say Gil. It made him tremble from sternum to spine to hear her husky voice whisper his name.

"Think about it." He kissed her again. "Don't say no."

_One more chapter in this story! Then a short break while we finish up another one._


	9. Chapter 9

**A Few Days with Laura Sidle Chapter 9**

This time she slipped his bonds, pulling herself up and over him as she rested her head on a hand. "I'm not sure I'm ready to live with someone. This is the first time I've ever had my own place—it's not much, but it is mine—as long as I pay the rent."

"I'll help you find a place. You don't have to live with me, I understand."

She smiled and traced a fingertip across his forehead. "We know so little about each other, Grissom. I'm not sure you would even like me if you had to work with me."

"I think I would. You are smart, articulate, enthusiastic, determined."

Her head came to his chest. He felt her smile. "I can be obstinate, stubborn, inflexible, temperamental, even the h-word—hormonal—are you sure you want to work with me?"

Grissom chuckled. "All those things? I've worked with Catherine for years and she's worse than all those things, and divorced and a mother, and a player, and a former dancer. But she's smart, has a passion for her job—you would like her."

"Tell me about the others." She said. He occasionally talked about the "team" as he called them.

He started with Jim Brass, his boss; a long time police detective who had made the jump to the crime lab several years ago. "Jim and I have worked together for years. He would love you; everyone's favorite uncle, quietly doing the right thing." He chuckled. "Jim always wears a suit. Always looks like the boss."

He described Nick Stokes, saying everyone liked Nick. The women loved Nick who was compassionate and quick, a good investigator, always questioning, always eager to please, and always smiling.

Warrick, he explained, was the local guy with the swagger for living now, hard and fast, going along for the ride. Grissom's pride in the young man was obvious to Sara as she listened to his description, relating personal details as a parent might about a child.

"How old is Warrick?" Sara asked, thinking he must be a young man.

Grissom paused. "I'm not sure—older than you, I think—early thirties. He and Nick must be about the same age. Catherine, Nick, Warrick and I work well together. We have a new person about every six months. They never stay—go to another job or another shift." He paused again. "Sara, you would be a perfect fit, I know it. Think about this."

She sighed. "I will. Now that my mom has a good place, I will." She made a fist and rested her chin on it. "I love this area. I love the water. Not sure how I would like the desert."

He made a face. "You would love it. I know a beautiful water place just a few hours from Las Vegas. We'll go there. I'll teach you to play golf. We would have a good time."

Sara covered his mouth with hers, placing a dozen kisses on his lips and face before saying, "We have a good time now." She giggled. "Do you have to go back soon?"

His eyes rolled. "I left for the day, change of clothes. I didn't think this out very far in advance, did I?"

She laughed. "Last night I wore a nun's gown to sleep in—don't guess I thought it out very much either. I am sorry you were worried." She nestled her head against his chin. "We've had a weird twenty four hours." She laughed again as she sat up. "Let's go out. I know something we can do before you leave."

"Buying a cell phone is our first stop."

She laughed as she crawled over him, dragging the sheet with her.

They did buy a cell phone—a twin to the one he had. The clerk programmed each phone with the number of the other. "You are my number one." She said, both laughing. He knew she was happy; he knew part of her happiness was the news about her mother. He hoped part of her delight was his company.

In the rental car, she directed him to a large parking garage near the bay. From there, she led him to the waterfront and a large ferry boat.

"It's a great way to cruise the bay," she said. "It takes about an hour round-trip to Sausalito. We can get something to eat, return, and get you to the airport and both of us to work on time."

Mid-afternoon, they were two tourists among others on a sightseeing adventure. Sara carried them to the top level and the front of the boat. They could have been the only people on the ferry for all the notice they gave to others. She pointed out landmarks in the clear and breezy afternoon. They laughed at everything from the giant tanker with cargo boxes stacked like tinker toys, guessing what could be inside, to kids running from tired parents. Their laughter came from relief—hers because of her mother, his because he found her well and happy, almost giddy.

They laughed on the return trip about their choices of food. Sara ate cheese, an avocado, a pear, and grapes delicately arranged on a small plate; he ate fried seafood and French fries and buttered bread wrapped up in white paper. The ferry filled quickly with working men and women ending their day, but she managed to find a spot on the top deck, standing in the front of the boat.

Crossing the bay, she pulled a small camera from her bag and asked a woman to take their picture with the Golden Gate Bridge behind them. The woman took four photographs before saying she had the perfect one.

Grissom drove her to work and left her standing on the sidewalk. She could not remember when someone worried about her—especially to fly six hundred miles. Vegas might be a good place, she thought. She might become accustomed to the desert.

Grissom had been away from Las Vegas less than twenty hours when his plane landed. He was never ready to leave her; he had to convince her to come to Las Vegas. He promised a trip to a special place where turquoise water spilled over rocks and created warm pools of water, in a place that always surprised visitors. He promised to teach her the game of golf. To himself, he promised to get her to Vegas—Jim Brass would love Sara Sidle.

_A/N: So we end another fluff. Maybe two more short stories before Sara moves to Las Vegas and we pick up their story with reruns! _


End file.
